


Grasping For Definition

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-23
Updated: 2003-12-23
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of "The Definition Series." She's pretending to move on, but Dawn's just fumbling for reason in the dark. Until someone offers her a sliver of hope...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grasping For Definition

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Author's Note: "Living Without Definition" was going to be a one off, but I enjoyed writing it and liked the Dawn/Wesley dynamic. So I'm turning it into a series. There will be five ficlets in this series and here's the second. I don't think this is as good as "Living Without Definition," but it's just a bridge until the bigger action and angst in the next installment.

***

It was when Spike visited her in Wesley's old office that she realised she would never be able to hide it from him. It's almost funny that she actually thought she could hide it from him of all people. But, for a time, she had.

Until, finally, six months after Wesley died, Dawn gathered enough courage and control to go into his office for longer than a few seconds. 

"Dawn, I want -" Spike had stopped in the middle of the office as he looked up from a sheet of paper, gazing around the office as though suddenly realising where he was. And though she stood tall and confident, cool and collected in her heels, pencil skirt and silk blouse, he met her eyes and saw right through her. 

And suddenly she was fourteen again; staring into an abyss as her sister was buried. But this time, when the vampire looked into her eyes and took her hand, he knew he was even more ill equipped to cope with this than last time. Because something told him this was one thing she would never get over.

She had gotton over other deaths. No, "got over" isn't the right phrase. She had coped, accepted and dealt with other deaths. She watched her mother, her sister and Tara disappear into the ground and she had cried. But though she never stopped missing them, she learned to live with their absence. 

It was harder with Anya and Spike. Mainly because she couldn’t remember ever telling Anya she loved her and she had never made up with Spike. 

But the real thing that hurt her was that there was no grave for them. With her mom, Tara and - for one long, torturous summer - her sister, there were graves she could visit. Headstone's she could touch, lettering she could trace with a shaking finger, flowers she could arrange as she fought tears. 

The comfort was that there was something there that told her they had lived, they had loved her. It took her a while to realise that the crater that had been Sunnydale was the same testimony to Anya, Spike and the dozens of Slayers that the graves of her family were. 

That is, until Wesley called Buffy because he thought she "ought to know that Spike was back."

But what did she have of Wesley save for a few memories and photos? Nothing. No where she could go to stare at a headstone, just to prove she hadn't dreamed him.

If Dawn had her way, there would be a grave, Latin wouldn’t be such a chore, her toaster wouldn’t be so complicated and filing would take a split-second.

But then, if Dawn had her way, Buffy and Angel would get back together, Spike would make up his mind about Fred.

And Wesley wouldn’t have died in the first place.

***

"… I'm telling you, Angel, no matter what you say, she ain't getting over it! She's a great little actress is our Dawn, but I can see right through her."

"Spike, maybe she's not as bad as you think she is."

"Fred, listen to me. She's. Not. Getting. Any. Better."

"Don’t talk to me like that," Fred snapped, glaring at the vampire, "maybe you're not giving her enough space to move on."

"Will you two shut up!" Angel's voice was strained and Dawn peered through the crack in the door. 

It was a bad idea, bringing Angel into this. Bad, bad, bad. If Angel thought Dawn wasn’t doing so well, he would blame himself. The way he saw it, it was his fault that Wesley died in the first place and therefore all her pain was his fault too. It was starting to wear thin. Dawn was sick and tired of his guilt stricken glances and measured tone of voice. 

Though, anything was better than his tortured apologies.

"Dawn… I just wanted to say… Sorry. For avoiding you. And for… Wesley. It was my fault…I-I don’t know what to say except I'm sorry. He was my closest friend. My best friend after Cordy… And I'm sorry, Dawn. If I had known what he was going to do, I wouldn’t have let him. It should have been me. I'm so sorry. It should've been me!"

His words had been simple and almost brutal in their simplicity. But they had the effect of sending her crashing to her knees, all resolve melting as it hit her that it was real. If Angel never said a word about it, never mentioned it, never apologised, then she could pretend it had never happened. 

But with Angel's words, her final illusion left her and she was on her own. And without her illusions, what the hell did she have? What purpose did she have in her life? All she had now was translations, running her department and the constant pretence that she was fine.

She pressed her hand to the door and pushed it open, slicing the conversation off mid sentence.

"I was looking for the Ga-Shundi book of translations," she said, "I thought Fred might have borrowed it. But I'm kinda stuck mid-prophesy without it."

"Uh, yeah," Fred nodded and retrieved the book from beneath a pile of papers on the edge of Angel's desk, "here you go."

"Thanks," Dawn said, wrapping her arms around the book and hugging it to her chest like a teenager in Sunnydale High.

She paused for a moment, looking from one person to the other. Angel met her eyes for a brief second before lowering his eyes to inspect an imaginary stain on his shirt. Fred glanced at Spike and slipped her hand into his, attempting to smile at Dawn. Only Spike kept his face set, staring at her, trying to figure her out.

"Well, I'll see you later," she said after a silence, turning to leave. She paused, glancing back at them, "I'm fine, guys, really."

Spike waited until she was out of the office and halfway back to hers before turning to Fred and Angel.

"See?"

***

Dawn closed her door tightly and leaned against it. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and sighed. She pushed away from the door and dropped the Ga-Shundi book of translations on the desk. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the desk, squeezing it tightly, wondering how hard she would have to try to break it.

"I was starting to wonder if you were ever coming back."

Dawn jumped, grabbed a silver paper knife and whirled around to face the owner of the voice. She frowned, seeing no one. Slowly, a woman stepped out from the shadows. Dawn stared at her, slowly took in her elegant attire, the perfectly styled hair and scarf around her neck.

"You're a lawyer," Dawn stated, recognising the look.

"A dead lawyer," the woman replied with a shrug.

"What do you want?" Dawn asked wearily, "do you know how much work I've got to do? I've got to translate this stuff Fred found in the archives. And I've got to check all the stuff the company translators have done. And let me tell you, Ga-Shundi isn't my strong point."

"Wesley was always good at Ga-Shundi," the woman said softly, almost wistfully.

Dawn's grip tightened on the paper knife with one hand as she gripped the desk again, this time for support.

"What?" she said, the word snapped, hard and full of warning and suppressed emotion.

"You think you're the only one who knew him?" the woman asked, turning to look Dawn in the eye.

"You knew him?" Dawn repeated, "when?"

"Not in this life," the woman shrugged, "mostly because mine's over," she gave a short, bitter laugh, "he wouldn’t remember me. He's spoke to me countless times since he came to work her. As far as he's concerned, I was just a lawyer that he spoke to on a few occasions before she was killed in a massacre in this very building."

"And as far as you're concerned?"

The woman ignored her question.

"My name's Lilah Morgan," she said instead, "and of course, I know who you are, Dawn Summers. I heard you, when he died, I could hear you screaming when I was in my office," the woman glanced pointedly at the floor, "and that’s a long way down. I actually thought you might put all that passion to better use than work."

"Get out of here," Dawn hissed, pointing the paper knife at Lilah threateningly, "if you know who I am, you'll know I'm pretty famous around her for what I did to a vamp after he died. And I can think of several things to do with this right now."

"He always liked girls with fire," Lilah commented, "look, I'll cut to the chase, shall I?"

"Good, I was starting to think I'd have to cut to you," Dawn sighed.

"You're sharp. I almost like you. I'm here to tell you that there is something you can do."

"About Wesley?" Dawn asked, fighting tears because this wasn’t fair, "get out. Just go. I don’t want to hear this. Don’t you think I've tried to get him back? I can't. He's dead, gone. He's never coming back and I might never get over it, but I can't change it."

"Who's asking you to change it?" Lilah asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you know three people who have gone through portals," Lilah replied evenly, "think about the differences between them. You'll work it out. Now, I've gotta go. My boss is gonna give me Hell for even speaking to you. Not that he doesn’t give me Hell every other day of the year."

Lilah turned to leave, but Dawn darted forward, grabbing Lilah's arm.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Lilah shrugged and gave Dawn a sad smile.

"Because I loved him once," she whispered, before pulling away from Dawn and leaving the room as silently as she had come.

Dawn blinked and watched her go for a moment before snatching up a pen and a notepad.

"Three people I know who have gone through portals," she muttered, tapping the pen against her chin, before starting to write. 

Angel.

Buffy.

Fred.

"Differences," she mused, staring at the names, "there are no differences. They all came back…" she frowned, suddenly seeing the difference, "Buffy came out the other side," she said, "that’s how we could bury her. But Fred and Angel, they didn’t come out the other side, they stayed in the dimension."

The pen tumbled to the desk with a loud clatter as Dawn turned deathly white and twisted her fingers to stop them shaking.

"Because they were both alive."

 

THE END


End file.
